Outside the hotel, a black sedan idled across the street, its engine a soft purr in the night. Inside, a man adjusted a camera lens, zooming in on the forty-fifth floor. On my window. On me.
I didn't know it yet, but someone was coming for me.
And part of me was waiting.
CHAPTER 3
Dante
The Sutherland Hotel. Twenty-three stories, old money establishment with outdated security systems and staff more concerned with discretion than vigilance. Julietta was registered under a fake name, room 4502, northeast corner. Perfect.
I sat in my office at The Apex—my flagship casino— watching the security feeds Vince had pirated from their system. Multiple angles. The hallway outside her suite. The elevator banks. The parking garage below.
Julietta moved through her room like a caged predator—pacing, examining the windows, testing the door locks. She didn't try to leave. Didn't call out for help. Smart enough to understand the gravity of her situation. Intelligent enough to know that screaming would only confirm her imprisonment.
My cock tightened watching her.
Unacceptable.
I pulled up the news feeds instead. The Altieri family's PR machine was already spinning. Miguel's assassination attributed to rival cartels. Random violence. Tragic accident. The narrative firmed up like concrete—by morning, the masses would believe whatever story Lorenzo fed them.
But they wouldn't believe he'd let his daughter's fiancé die unprotected if he hadn't planned it.
I cross-referenced my intelligence with the fragments I'd collected over months of obsessive research. Lorenzo's financial records. His communications intercepts. The encrypted messages between him and someone code-named "Patriarch."
The pieces crystallized into a horrifying picture.
Miguel's death had been my doing—a bullet through his skull to shatter the Altieri-Suarez alliance. I'd told myself it was strategic. That killing him would destabilize Lorenzo's empire and create opportunities for expansion.
But the intelligence in front of me revealed something I hadn't fully anticipated.
Lorenzo wasn't grieving his daughter's lost engagement. His PR machine moved too smoothly. His financial transfers showed no disruption. No panic. No restructuring.
He'd expected this. Maybe not the exact execution, but he'd anticipated the alliance failing.
Which meant Julietta had never been essential to his plans. She'd been... what? A pawn? Bait? A tool he was willing to sacrifice?
The thought made my blood run cold.
I'd taken her to disrupt his empire. To claim what he valued. But if he didn't value her—if she was expendable to him—then what had I actually accomplished?
Julietta wasn't the bride cementing an alliance.
She was the sacrificial lamb meant to start a war.
And I'd taken her forty-eight hours before Lorenzo could execute his plan.
My hands curled into fists, knuckles cracking against the mahogany desk. The thought of Lorenzo using her, discarding her, treating her like a chess piece on a board designed by men who saw her as nothing more than a womb and a bargaining chip—
No.
Not anymore.
"Move her tomorrow," I told Vince over the encrypted line. "Light escort. They'll think she's being relocated to the family compound. Route her through Seventh and Aldrich."
"The intersection?" Vince's voice carried a note of approval. "Won't be expecting it that soon."
"They won't be expecting it at all. They think she's safe."
